


Nepenthe

by Morgause1



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angbang fluff, Blood, Cuddles, Dom/sub, Fear, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Master/Servant, Soul Bond, Vala/maia, angbang, battle aftermath, naked cuddles, Ósanwe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 17:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11696199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgause1/pseuds/Morgause1
Summary: Melkor is afraid.Mairon is warm and fuzzy.





	Nepenthe

Melkor could feel it even before he opened the door to his bedchamber – a soft rustling, like flames. It reminded him of his great hell-storms that consumed entire forests in older, better days. The room itself, when he finally entered, was much warmer than that high mountain-terrace whence he came, almost unpleasantly so. The sudden change in temperature baffled him for a second, but all doubts fled his mind when he saw where the heat was coming from.

The fireplace was long cold, but it mattered not. Sprawled across his enormous bed was the most beautiful of his Maiar, naked body glowing among the dark furs. His red hair spilled all around him, adding to the illusion of fire catching his bed. Memory returned to Melkor as snowflakes melted in his hair: the Maia came back from battle at the gates, covered in Elf-blood and burning with victory. There were others around him but he stood out, as usual, a beacon of carnality so dark that Melkor could almost taste it. One glance at the creature was enough for Melkor to command him to go await him in bed. But then he had to speak with Gothmog and the rest of his generals, as the matters at hand were pressing. Their reports… no power in Creation could make Melkor admit it, but they… disturbed him deeply. The enemy was growing stronger, more adapt at fighting, less naïve after spending all those years away from the sheltering shores of Aman and the wings of the Valar. After dismissing the generals he had to

( _run_ )

take some time for himself to consider what he heard. How long did he spend on that balcony overlooking the Anfauglith, motionless in the cocooning blizzard that swept the mountains and thinking thoughts that should never have crossed the mind of He Who Arises In Might? Too long, apparently, for Mairon was now fast asleep.

Mairon lay on his side, facing him. Melkor stood for a while by the bed. He should have been angry at his Lieutenant for succumbing to fatigue when he wanted him, but for some reason he was not. Instead, he was trying to fix his gaze on him. Much to his frustration, his sight wavered constantly and broke into rainbow-like flashes. Pain followed and then the feeling of blood dripping into his hair. The crown, of course. The damned thing would never just let him be, never let his mind clear like it used to be before… a familiar mixture of disgust and need squeezed his throat, causing his bile to rise. One brief, unexpected motion, and Melkor shoved the crown beneath the bed, letting the sheets drop back down and block the horrid Light.

Much better.

The ever-present noise which filled Melkor’s heart was gone at once, as if shot mid-leap. It was replaced by a profound silence. He took a deep breath, and then another. His vision finally cleared and then focused, becoming even sharper than the sight of the great Eagles of his brother. Amazing, Melkor thought. He forgot how much one could see if one truly looked.

He could make out all the little details now, the kind which he always scorned others for noticing when it was the big picture they should be minding. Now they gave him great pleasure. He could see Mairon’s long, red lashes as they rested on his high cheekbones. His eyes followed the spattering of freckles on his skin, luminous and elegant, not blemishes but a thing of beauty – just like his scars. Mairon had Melkor’s name carved with an enchanted blade into his flesh. The branding never wholly healed: it burned a bright red over his heart, a sign of gory devotion. He saw the way his chest rose and fell, quiet and steady. Upon closer scrutiny, he could see goosebumps covering that pale gold silk – despite the room’s feverish temperature, his Maia was cold.

Melkor took off his garments and kicked off his iron-bound boots, and then slumped into bed beside him. He slowly pulled one fur blanket over Mairon, delighting in the way the soft, thick strands dragged across his skin. Mairon tried to stir but his eyelids were too heavy. It seems that the battle took its toll on him, too.

“Mas…”

“Hush,” Melkor whispered. “Sleep.”

Filled with a nameless emotion, he wrapped his arms around him. Mairon crept even closer and rested his head on Melkor’s shoulder, nuzzling his neck and murmuring happily. His fingers closed around a lock of Melkor’s hair and held on. His soul spread, aligned itself for the Vala’s Owning, which strengthened their Soul Bond and fed both their spirits. That was a treat Melkor could never refuse: he loved seeing how Mairon’s lips parted in a gasp when _that_ particular pleasure hit.

Lulled by the sound of soft breathing and the ripples of the Maiarin soul in his clutches, Melkor felt sleep creeping into him. His mind relaxed, opened, and words flew in silence from his spirit and into the golden warmth which was their Bond.

 _My best_ , his soul hissed. _My most useful. My most precious and most beautiful and favorite_.

 _Master_ , the Maia answered. _Love_. _Love_. _Love_. _Love_.

Love.

And in this one perfect moment before all melted, there was no more pain, no more fear, no more anger or greed. All were cleansed and faded away.


End file.
